Agents: The Fall of an Angel
by Stormhawk
Summary: Just a short about an angel.


Title: The Fall of an Angel  
  
Author: Stormhawk  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: Matrix universe and associated characters: Wachowski brothers. Agents universe: co-owned by me and Mordax.  
  
Word Count: 888  
  
Summary: A short about Seraph.  
  
Notes: Remember I told you that I wrote a Seraph short ages ago? Well I finally found it and transcribed it.  
  
Seraph is a Matrix-owned character and I haven't played ETM so I don't know if it conflicts anything in there, so accept it as it is.  
  
Please read and Review.  
  
An Asian man in a carefully tailored suit quickly made his way down the dark street, walking quickly but he hadn't yet broken into a run.  
  
There was nothing particularly special about him, tall and looking like he was somewhere in his thirties, the only thing that would have made him stand out in a crowd, had there been anyone else around was his wings.  
  
The man was an angel.  
  
Angels were a common enough type of exile. On the other hand, there was something unusual about them when compared to the other exiles. Many angels chose to be like their mythical namesakes and keep an eye on humans.  
  
Several frequented churches and other such 'holy' places. Some appeared to humans when they were in a bad situation or about to do something stupid. For some it was merely an interest, some a way of like and others still just liked to help.  
  
But, as with people, they are individuals and some chose to live closer to a normal life, by concealing their wings in heavy coats, while others chose solitude.  
  
This one had chosen to work a bodyguard. At first he had enjoyed it the money and the high life promised to him by the Merovingian. It wasn't until he saw under the layers of glamour and saw the Frenchman for what he truly was that he had decided to leave his employ.  
  
It was then that the angel had discovered that his employer didn't like his employees leaving him. He had ways of persuading them to stay.  
  
So now he was on the run, he needed to get as far away from his pursuers as possible.  
  
He knew the programs that were chasing him. Rhys and Byl were their names, they were vampires with especially sadistic streaks.  
  
They hadn't been sent to bring him back, they had been sent to make sure he never went anywhere again and never forgot where he had come from.  
  
He looked upward and his white wings urged him to fly high above the city and escape. He didn't fly because he wasn't the only angel that the Merovingian had in his arsenal, and if they saw him it would be a battle he probably wouldn't survive.  
  
"Stop right there," Byl's Texan accent said as he walked by an alley.  
  
"We want to talk to you," Rhys agreed as they dragged him into the depths of the alley. He tried to fight them off but Rhys put a jagged dagger to his throat. He couldn't move without killing himself.  
  
Byl punched him in the face so many times that he fell to the ground unable to move. He rolled onto his back in an attempt to get up but Rhys' large foot stomped into his gut and he was left winded.  
  
Together, they turned him over onto his stomach and pinned him down. He didn't feel he had the strength to move, and this pair was strong at the best of times.  
  
He flapped his wings and Rhys cracked his temple with the hilt of his knife and the angel felt himself come close to losing consciousness.  
  
He was dimly aware of a sharp pain in his neck as one of them drugged him with a sedative to make sure that he didn't move. Byl tore off his shirt, exposing his back.  
  
The angel flinched, even in his drugged state he knew that something terrible, probably his death, was imminent, and that he was helpless to do anything to prevent it.  
  
Rhys maneuvered his knife to the angel's shoulder blade, for from the protrusions atop them was where an angel's wings grew. He touched his blade to the other program's skin, a little above the shoulder blade, where the wing support bone started to grow.  
  
All the angel exile remembered was fear, pain and blood as the pair mercilessly cut his wings off.  
  
Leaving him drugged, beaten and bloody, they left the alley with their master's prize, the traitor's wings.  
  
There is nothing worse for an angel than to lose his wings.  
  
Tears streamed from his face as he called for someone to help him.  
  
He became aware of waking up, he looked around at his surroundings. He was no longer in that damned alley.  
  
The Oracle was holding him as though he were a small child. "Did you have a nightmare my little Seraph?"  
  
"You always seem to know."  
  
"Well, I am an Oracle."  
  
"It was the same one again."  
  
"That memory is never going to stop haunting you until you left it go."  
  
"How can I let it go?" he asked as he sat up on the couch that he sometimes slept on. "They took my wings, they left me to die."  
  
"Your wings weren't and aren't who you are. They were just a part of you."  
  
"I can never fly again because of them."  
  
"It was a very long time ago Seraph. They are still winning by you allowing it to haunt you now."  
  
"I would have died if you hadn't found me."  
  
"I wouldn't let that happen," she said as gently wiped a few tears from his usually stoic face. She smiled at him as he settled back down on the couch to go back to sleep.  
  
At least in his dreams he could fly.  
  
The End. 


End file.
